


Snow Angel

by PookityPook



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Supernatural/Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:29:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PookityPook/pseuds/PookityPook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas regrets underestimating this human.</p><p>Inspired by this beautifully depressing drawing I found! If only I knew who the artist was, because I can't read the little writing on his wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow Angel

“Hello, Castiel.”

The childish Irish accent rang out behind the angel in the silence.  Everything had been quiet, the kind of encompassing soundlessness that occurred with recently fallen snow. Castiel turned in surprise, chastising himself for allowing himself to be snuck up on. He quickly evaluated this newcomer, but stopped up short when he realised –

“You’re –”

“Human, yes. So I’ve been told.” The man was short, shorter than Castiel, almost skeletal-looking and had burning dark eyes. He laughed good-naturedly, stepping up close. “However, I’m sure I knew a few people who’d absolutely _beg_ to differ.” The small man was unthreatening (he was just a human after all), but stepped uncomfortably close to Castiel, peering up at him.

Castiel was getting annoyed with this human, and more so that he seemed to know just who he was.

“I think you’re in my personal space.”Castiel said simply, hoping the man would leave despite all indications otherwise. He just tilted his head and smiled, looking Castiel up and down.

“My, my. If you were taller and less scruffy, you would look _deliciously_ like another adversary of mine.” He stepped back but did not remove his gaze. Castiel did not move, but could feel his scepticism rising.

“You think me to be your adversary?” He intoned, slightly mocking. The man took no notice.

“Ohhh, yes! This should be _fun_.” He smiled. It had a startling effect on his face, lighting and darkening his eyes at the same time. He went on, grinning wickedly at Castiel, who growing increasingly bored with the entire exchange.

“Sherlock, his name was. Weird name, yes? Just. Like. Yours,” the man sang. “Long coat, fairytale eyes, the _deadly_ cheekbones. Darling, even the blue neck accessories! Though I must say, a scarf is more practical in this weather.”

At this he reached out suddenly with one hand and grabbed Castiel’s tie, pulling him in close. Castiel didn’t even have time to be startled before his face was nearly pressed up against the other man’s. He was surprisingly strong for a human, and a slight-looking one at that, but Castiel was an angel and could smite this irksome Irishman at any moment.

That Irishman, however, was laughing, his breath misting and swirling around Castiel’s face. “You know, I promised to burn dear Sherlock’s heart out.” Another smoky puff of laughter. “He tried to tell me he didn’t have one,” he growled. “But I know _everyone_ has one.”

A searing pain ripped through Castiel’s chest at these words, and he let out a harsh cry of shock as the man shoved him back roughly. Castiel could sense he was falling and tried to right himself, but with a horrifying realisation found that he could not move properly.

He ended up collapsing upon his knees in front of the other man, as an acidic pain travelled across his chest and neck.

“What... Who are you?” Castiel choked out before he felt his throat constrict, obliterating any further words. The man crouched to his knees so he was face to face with Castiel again, grabbing his chin with thin fingers.

“Jim Moriarty. Hi!” His childish voice grated on Castiel’s ears, not eased by the vicious shake Jim Moriarty gave, squeezing his face harder.

Castiel shut his eyes tightly, having difficulty even gasping as the appalling pain travelled down his body while intensifying in the point right above his heart where it had begun. Moriarty released his face. Opening his eyes again, Castiel watched as he dragged a jagged blade through the untouched snow, leaving a dark red blight as he cleaned it.

Castiel began falling forward uncontrollably, but Moriarty caught him and held him in place by his shoulders.

“Don’t worry yourself, darling, you aren’t dying. Not _now_ , at any rate.” His hands travelled slowly from Castiel’s shoulders as he placed them on either side of his face. “Your grace is fighting off the demon blood at this very moment.” Castiel’s eyes widened as Moriarty pulled him closer, kissing him lightly on the forehead.

“Hmm, feverish already. I guess I didn’t need to use _quite_ so much.” Moriarty suddenly pushed his head away, leaving Castiel to fall freely backwards into the snow.

At this point every muscle in his body was screaming in torment and he was unable to move all but his eyes. Until the blazing pain reached his wings, at which Castiel involuntarily arched his entire body. He wanted to cry out but was unable as he felt his wings beating helplessly against the snow, an unseen force disturbing and imprinting the icy powder.

Moriarty whistled softly, standing only a foot away with his hands in the pockets of his dark coat, having sheathed the knife away somewhere.

“Would you _look_ at that!” He said, sounding awed. “Darling, it’s not every day I get to be impressed, but goodness, you’re positively _beautiful_! A true snow angel.” He grinned as Castiel’s wings stopped moving, spread out flat on either side of him.

It was all Castiel could do to keep his eyes from rolling back, trying to keep Moriarty within his sights as the man approached, carrying a bag he had not seen before.

“I’d love to stay and play in the snow, darling, but I’m under orders, you see.” Moriarty reached inside and began to pull out a string of Christmas lights. Castiel was too agonized to wonder at this, concerned more with the fact that demon blood was running through his body. He had never heard of such a thing to be used in this way (against anyone, let alone an angel), and his mind rushed with questions as to how this human could have been so creative.

His thoughts were immediately answered as Moriarty continued.

“Crowley sends his love. Said you should remember him.” He none-too-gently seized Castiel’s outstretched arm, while the angel emitted a feeble whimper as his rigid muscles screamed in protest. Moriarty placed the end of the string of lights in his unresponsive hand.

He continued to unwrap the lights (Castiel’s muddled mind was dimly aware they were somehow already glowing), and arrange them about Castiel’s recumbent form and around his head.

Moriarty patted his hair and smiled down at him as he stood. “There now, everyone can see your halo!”

Castiel closed his eyes, praying for the pain to stop. Of course he didn’t get any response. Moriarty made a surprisingly sympathetic sound.

“Oh, don’t try so hard, no one’s listening,” he pouted, and there was a click of a camera shutter. “This setup isn’t altogether for you, you know.”

Castiel’s eyes whipped open and he glared at the human, daring him to say what he was dreading. Moriarty simply smirked, holding his phone.

“I’m not here to do any damage to _you_ , specifically, though no one should mind if I take some liberties.” Moriarty kicked some snow at Castiel’s face as he sent the picture. The flakes of ice felt soothing against his burning skin, and Castiel could not help but exhale a painful sigh, seeking relief as Moriarty spoke.

“No, no. I’m waiting for your little pets. Crowley tells me they’re _bound_ to come bumbling along, looking for their little angel at Christmas.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “You see, the King of Hell has some plans. Namely things for you to watch and... Well, I couldn’t say _enjoy_ , I guess, could I?”

Moriarty replaced his phone in his pocket and slowly began to stroll away. Castiel tried desperately to move his head, his hands, anything, but to no avail. His despair swelled dramatically as he came to the realisation that this human had him well and truly disabled.

Castiel closed his eyes and began to pray again as flakes tumbled from the sky onto his inflamed skin. He prayed that they would not receive the picture, that they would be unable to reach him, that they would give up looking. For endless excruciating hours Castiel prayed.

He stopped when he heard the familiar grumble of the Impala’s engine, and wondered why he prayed at all anymore.


End file.
